


Practices of Fools

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Choking, M/M, Minor Violence, Rape, Sexual Content, Tricksters, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave comes to the aid of a friend, only to find himself the victim of a cruel prank and at the mercy of a complete lunatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practices of Fools

.

.

.

-ectoBiologist began pestering turchtechGodhead-

EB: dave!  
EB: i mean, dave.  
EB: i’m trying to stay calm here but i think i seriously screwed up.  
EB: i hit the wrong keys and i didn’t mean to but i think i activated it by accident!  
EB: oh man dave please answer i seriously am freaking out like  
EB: oh god  
EB: dave please  
EB: i can’t even  
EB: heh  
EB: hehehe.

  
-ectoBiologist ceased pestering turntechGodhead-

TG: shit wait hold on john what are you on about  
TG: if this is a fucking prank i swear to god  
TG: egbert  
TG: come back you ass  
TG: …  
TG: fuck fine ill just come over but i better not find a goddamn bloody corpse or i swear i will flip my shit right off this meteor and go flying off into space hand and hand with vantas  
TG: just spinning and spinning and fuck what am i doing  
TG: hang on man  


.

.

.

For all the time he wasted yammering away to no one on pesterchum, Dave doesn’t waste a second in running over to check on his best bro.

John’s room is right down the hall on this rock, not even through a transportalizer because they aren’t as crazy about personal space as the trolls seem to be. They all occupy the same wing of the lab and they’re cool with that, visit each other like, every five fucking seconds, but for some reason this five second period, the one where John needs him, is the one Dave decided to be somewhere else, messing around with a formaldehyde soaked sparrow sort of thing in a jar.

He skids to a silent halt in front of John’s door, marked all too obviously as his space by the craft paper sign taped to the surface at just above Dave’s eye level declaring that this is “a ghost free zone! :o” and doesn’t bother knocking. It’s been left open as it is.

He grabs the doorknob and steps into the room in one swift movement, slinking through the entryway and it’d be so unbelievably smooth if not for one thing.

The bucket that until a few seconds ago had been poised precariously on the edge of the doorframe.

He just barely dodges it, missing a bucket of cold water landing directly on his head in a display sure to burn the ears of every troll in the place. Instead he ends up with a soaked shirt and a splash of cold to his face, speckling his shades as he steps quickly out of the way.

After the bucket has clattered to the floor he waits, dripping, for the dorky little gigglesnort that is sure to follow, the appearance of the pranking master. Dave is so ready to tear him a new one. If the asshole thinks it’s funny to scare his friends into running to his aid just to dump a bucket of water on them, he’s more of an insensitive douche than Dave ever thought he could be.

He looks around the room and everything else seems to be in order. There’s no blood stain on the steel floor, no torn posters, no signs of a struggle. None of the horror images that immediately flashed through his mind when he first read the blue ‘please’ on the screen of his phone. It’s something of a relief but still, John is nowhere in sight.

Dave runs his tongue over his top lip and actually tenses in surprise at the taste. It’s not water. It’s apple juice.

The fucker.

“Egbert, I swear to christ…”

He wipes his shirt sleeve over his face, effectively smearing the juice across his shades so they’re all blurry and he scowls because it just makes things that much more irritating. He can smell the strong scent of apples on him now and really? Really, he had to go there? Terezi is going to have a field day with this if she manages to track him down before he gets in the shower.

Scowling, quickly growing chilled as the juice settles into the fabric of his shirt, he steps up to Egbert’s desk. The computer is still on, the last message he had sent to Dave sitting open in the top right corner of the screen. In front of that though, an open and unsaved word document with a short message written in it-

watch your back. :)

and your front.

(hehehehe.)

 

“Yeah alright John, really fucking funny,” Dave mutters under his breath, and jiggles the mouse, wanting to exit the program and give John’s pesterlog another read through, maybe look for a better hint as to what the hell is going on.

The cursor doesn’t move.

And it’s pink.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…”

Hunching over the unfamiliar keyboard he looks for the Ctrl key so he can force quit, but when he looks to the lower left side of the keyboard he finds it missing.

The Ctrl key is missing, along with the T.

“Yeah, okay, what?

In an act of frustration he jabs down the Esc key instead.

A shower of confetti blasts out from behind the monitor, making him jump, actually cry out in surprise.

Little bits of paper cling to his face, stick in his hair, and when the explosion has passed he’s left standing in a pile of it, still wet, still cold, now sticky and sprinkled with bright, festive pieces of paper.

He tries very hard not to flip the fuck out.

He fails.

The explosion of brightly colored confetti is too similar to explosions of brightly colored plush rump he’s suffered in the past and really, this is just going too far. John isn’t being funny, he’s being cruel. He knows these things bother Dave and he’s doing them anyway and he is officially a dick.

“You’re a dick, Egbert!” Dave yells, tone flat as ever but there is some definite anger lurking deep, deep down.

Suddenly, in an equally explosive nature, John Egbert bursts from the metal cabinet in the opposite corner of the room. The doors clang open and he jumps out, arms spread, grinning like a fool, laughing in victory, and Dave jumps and flails and stumbles away until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls back flat on his ass on the thin mattress.

The John Egbert that just popped out of a fucking cabinet and scared the crap out of him cannot possibly be John Egbert.

It is the same height, presumably the same weight, still dressed in a blue that makes his eyes shine like pieces of sky, grinning like a goofball with his overbite all impudent and obvious. But the familiar mass of untidy black hair is a shock of strawberry blonde, not at all a color found in nature, and somehow Dave knows he didn’t just bleach it for the luls.

“The fuck?” He gasps out, and he sounds so much like a dumb kid in a horror movie who just found the monster in the basement that used to be a real estate agent but now just eats people’s faces off, he could slap himself. He should know better than to walk into this shit.

Creepy blonde John just gets creepier the longer he stares at him. His eager, gleeful smile is too tight, strained, and his eyes are freaky wide, pupils like pin points in a sea of bright, bright blue. He giggles quietly, nonstop, like it’s interwoven with his breathing and the sound of it is giving Dave all of the worst skin crawling sensations.

He’s got a goddamn lollipop stuck in his hair.

“Gotcha,” Blondey Egbert says softly, still poised like he could make another jump forward any second, scare Dave shitless again since he already has him cornered.

“No, okay, seriously, what the fuck are you?” Dave doesn’t have the time for this bullshit. He’s got comics to draw and sword fighting to practice and he promised Kanaya he’d stand around and be a sexy model for her while she put together a new menswear look that had “A Very Innovative And Aesthetically Pleasing Silhouette,” so he’s kind of got to get a move on. He’s not going to sit here for two hours and play the “well golly John, what’s wrong with you?” game like he doesn’t already know that this is some weird trick of the universe, that time streams have crossed or radiation has fried a system and this Not-John has come through to wreak havoc on their unsuspecting meteor community.

But while Dave gives the guy his best serious business face, Blondey John is still grinning, looking almost pained as he does, and Dave has to wonder if all that smiling hurts his face.

“Wh-what are you talking about, Dave?” Fake-John says, feigning hurt feelings, “It’s me, John!” His shoulders slump all sad puppy style and his brow furrows, but he keeps right on grinning. Dave’s expression remains unchanged, but as he stares Not-John’s pupils dilate slightly, he slumps a little further, and the edges of the too-tight smile quiver.

“Dave,” He says quick, breathless, “Dave, it’s me, really I promise, it’s me, just,” The smile tightens again, like a sheet pulled taut, and his eyes seem far, far away, “Hehe.”

Dave leans back a little on the bed. Time to consider a new theory.

This is not an alternate John from another universe or timeline or what the fuck ever. This is, perhaps, still John. Just a John that has been…what? Possessed? Infected? Brainwashed and hairdyed? Something like that. Like something from a corny kid’s movie, his buddy is still in there somewhere, and he’s got to get him back.

“Alright. I’ll bite,” Not-John, or, just regular John’s head tips a little at that, the grin looking even more unsettling when it’s set off kilter, “John. You’re still a dick,” He giggles a little louder at that and Dave rolls his eyes, “And now you’re a really fucking creepy dick. So how about you tell me how to undo whatever weird shit happened to you and we can get on with our lives?”

John stares at him disconcertingly for a long moment before shaking his head, letting out a pleased little laugh, “But Dave, we’re just getting started!”

He throws his arms up, jazz hands and all, making Dave roll his eyes again.

“Oh man, yes, bring on the pranking fest, I’m sure this is gonna be-“

Dave doesn’t get to tell John what he thinks it’s going to be, because with John’s ridiculous jazz hands maneuver, the bed sheets around him come to life, shifting to candy cane stripes as they twist and rise, coil around his wrists and pull him back down onto the bed so fast his head smacks the wall and his vision blurs. His arms are spread wide on either side of him, tethered to the edges of the bed and no matter how hard he tries to tug them lose he can’t seem to make them budge. He’s pressed flat against the bed and undeniably trapped.

This should not be allowed in any universe. This should not be possible in any universe.

With a gleeful laugh, John throws his arms up again and a gust of wind sweeps through the room. The bedroom door slams shut and another two or three bursts of confetti rain down from various shelves and corners. The computer chair does a full 360 turn, quick like a little kid would want to spin in it, and every poster shakes and rattles in place against the wall, the sound of moving paper and air momentarily deafening.

Dave swallows hard.

“This is some Matilda shit right here.”

Even with his heart in his throat, he can’t seem to shut the fuck up.

John gives a stilted giggle and turns his gaze on Dave, grinning and grinning and when he suddenly pounces, kneels over the boy on the bed and screeches, “Gotcha!” Dave starts to kick.

He bucks and squirms, listening to John’s maniac laughter all the while, and his nerves are on edge. He tries to throw the lunatic off of him, but John’s got a tight grip on the sheets on either side of his chest, is still laughing, leering, as Dave begins to curse at him.

“If you don’t get the fuck off me in five seconds I swear to god Egbert, I will flip-“

“Right the fuck off this meteor?” John taunts him, leaning in close until his nose bumps against Dave’s and the squirming stops. He smells like sugar. Cloyingly sweet, “Calm down ol’ buddy ‘ol pal! I just wanna play with you a little bit!”

Dave is not reassured in the least.

While he resumes wriggling, putting in only minimal effort to jostle the body on top of him, John unclenches his hands from the candy cane sheets, wiggles his fingers showily on either side of Dave’s face before gripping the arms of his shades, sliding them off his face and leaning back, holding them up to the light and bathing them with his tongue, licking the leftover apple juice off of the lenses.

Dave flinches at the light, at the sight of this freakish version of his best friend licking his most prized possession, feels naked with his eyes exposed.

“John,” his voice comes out too rough.

Lost in a moment of apple induced ecstasy, John takes a moment before looking back at him, eyes widening even further as he drops the shades to the floor and pounces forward again.

Dave winces at the sound of his shades clacking against cold steel, prays they’re not broken, and shivers as John’s tongue runs up the side of his face.

“Sick, bro.”

“Mmmmm,” John moans in a long, drawn-out expression of joy at the taste of him, “You taste like apples, Dave!”

Dave wants to laugh at the fact that he’s heard that one before, but this time he literally does taste like apples and the person licking him isn’t a blind alien chick, but a twisted version of his palhoncho.

“John, stop it. Quit this weird fucking grabby touchy shit and let me go.”

He receives a giggle in response, a wet tongue against his other cheek. It slides all the way up his face, taking bits of confetti along with it, down to the lobe of his ear, and then there’s a low whisper, “No way, Jose. We’re playing a game.”

Dave shivers again, squirms to shake him off and seriously, he should not be able to stay on him like he’s the world’s worst bucking bronco, but John just squirms with him, rolls along with each sudden jerky movement and laughs like he’s enjoying the ride, sits up to bump his nose against Dave’s again, an eskimo kiss, before he wriggles back, sitting directly on Dave’s knees and stopping his movements.

“Seriously man, the creepy horror movie kid shit has got to stop. It’s way over done and you’re too old to be sneakin’ around like you just strolled out of the Shining.”

That giggle is going to haunt his nightmares, jesus.

John slips his thumbs under the hem of Dave’s shirt, gathering two bunches of it in his hands and he tears, pulling the fabric in opposite directions and the whole thing splits up the middle like it’s paper.

When the hell did he get so strong?

He shoves the pieces of shirt aside, lets them hang off Dave’s trapped arms like torn up wings and wiggles his eyebrows at him, a mockery of prank pulling and sexiness all in one blow that brings a rush of color to Dave’s face and makes his stomach churn.

He’s not seriously like…

“H-hey…hey, hold on man, wait.”

But John is already ducking down, dragging his fingertips slowly up Dave’s sides and drawing a gasp from him. His hands creep higher, higher, until finally they stop and suddenly spasm, twitching up and down his skin like a spider in its death throes, tickling him almost violently.

A startled laugh pulls itself from his throat, then another, and another and he can’t stop. John grins down at him, eyes wide and greedy as he makes Dave writhe, gasp for air, laugh and laugh until he can hardly breathe.

He’s laughing and choking and ordering him to stop, then begging, pleading after a few minutes because please, please, seriously he’s gonna piss himself and he hates laughing like this and it hurts, his stomach hurts.

The hands at his sides slow, slow to a near stop, then pick up their pace again, tickling oversensitive skin until Dave is completely breathless, eyes clenched shut in pain and overstimulation, body jerking up slightly every few moments in a weak attempt to escape.

That manic giggle has been playing on loop, rising in pitch, in volume, and John seems breathless too, completely engrossed in watching Dave melt into a twitching shell of his former self.

When the spastic movements and heaving of Dave’s chest die down, his energy extended and body exhausted, John finally pulls his hands away.

“You look so funny when you laugh, Dave!” He exclaims, and frames his own face with his hands, beaming happily, “You’re face got sooooo red!”

Dave looks up at him, bleary eyed from tears that had snuck up on him, ones that he’d refused to actually let fall, and can’t help but groan in confusion at how much this looks like his John.

It is his John.

The little quiver at the edges of the smile tells him that, the way the eyes turn sort of sad when he catches his breath and murmurs another ‘please.’

“Dave, I-“ He seems to struggle, digs his nails into his face and holds on tightly, presses his cheeks back up until his smile is in its proper place and he breathes out a giggle, “I, hehe, I just can’t, hehe haaahaha, seem to, ummm, c-control my-myself, heeehehe, around you.”

“W-will you at least tell me what the…actual fuck is wrong with you now?”

He hesitates a moment, brow furrowing, hands unclenching, and then he tenses up and shakes his head, “Haha, nope! All I’ll tell you is, I’m not going back!”

Back to what? Jesus, this really is a corny kids movie isn’t it? Dave is trapped in a children’s Halloween special and his best friend has been possessed by the ghost of Pranksters Past and he has to show the dude the true meaning of friendship or some shit so he’ll float back out of John’s body and let the poor guy go on with his life.

This is obviously what’s happening and Dave tries to run through his mental library of cheesy kid’s movies, come up with a strategy for dealing with pranky trickster ghosts that want to tickle you to death.

“Well, well how about-“

How about nothing.

How about this isn’t a kid’s movie any more.

How about John just laid down on top of him and he’s got a boner oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, John’s got a boner.

“Hey now-“

John rolls his hips sharply and wow, fuck, that layer of blue cotton between him and Dave’s jeans does not hide much.

“Not done playing,” He says, sing-song, and Dave groans at the awfulness of it all. This is bad. Really bad.

Dave swallows roughly and gives another tug to the sheets holding his arms. No luck.

“Egbert,” he says, and shakes his head, “John. John, don’t do this, man. You don’t wanna do this.”

“Oh but I doooo…”

“No, no you don’t. You don’t wanna hump my pale ass. Not a homosexual, remember?”

This time his laugh is a little condescending, almost cold, and he croons, “I’m suuuch a homosexual for you, Dave.”

He slips his hands up to rest on Dave’s shoulders, holding him down that much more as he works his body against the one beneath him, gasping lightly with each roll of his hips, cheeks going pink with effort and arousal.

“John, c’mon, don’t-“

The hands at his shoulders move fast, too fast, and fingers wrap tight around his throat.

“Shhhhhhh,” John says, smiling still, and tapers off in a lighthearted laugh. He tightens his hold, makes Dave gasp, cough, stare up at him in panic and kick his legs again before he gives him a quick shake, presses him hard into the mattress and then he lets go, shows Dave his empty hands as the boy gasps in huge breaths of air, “Stop arguing with me, silly! You’re taking all the fun out of it!”

With that he sits back on his heels, looks at Dave admiringly, and begins pulling his jeans down, not bothering to unbutton them, just tugging at the fabric until it bends to his will, scraping along Dave’s hips and thighs until it’s moved out of the way, taking his boxers along with it.

His clothes are all at odd angles and once he’s got his breath back Dave is right back to speaking, trying to reason with the John that can’t possibly be his John because John would never do this to him, joking with him, laughing back awkwardly and asking if he can please have his pants back now.

John just grins and giggles and strips him down to nothing but the tattered bits of shirt still hanging on his arms.

“Oh man, Dave you are so cute like this I could just eat you up!”

Dave’s stomach flips. At this point he wouldn’t put it past him.

“Hehehe, no worries. Your insides aren’t sweet enough to eat!”

And again, his reassurances are not especially comforting.

“Now, let’s see where we can move these…” Taking hold of his legs, John pushes and pulls and tries to reposition Dave, spread his legs open and apart and no, that’s just not happening. Dave knows where this is going, is horrified at the notion and he will not let it happen, no matter how bad John tickles or chokes him.

“Oh come on you big baby!” John laughs, and presses hard at Dave’s feet. The candy cane sheets jump up around him, wrap tight around his ankles and hold him there, knees bent, legs spread, “Oh wow, that’s so much better! Hahaha, how handy is that? Or, hehe, maybe, leggy?”

John falls all over himself laughing at his own joke and Dave stares up at him, feeling sick.

This is actually happening.

He lets out a whimper without meaning to and at the sound, John’s grin falls.

It’s the first time he hasn’t been smiling since he first leapt out of his cabinet hide out and while it should be reassuring, seeing John without a smile is pretty unfamiliar too.

“Dave…”

He gets a hold of himself, clears his throat a little and responds like this is all normal, all cool, “Yeah man?”

“Don’t cry Dave…”

“I’m not gonna cry, John.”

“I want to see you smile instead!” John’s manic grin is back in a flash as he leans down close and hooks two fingers into either side of Dave’s mouth, pulling at his skin to drag him into an unwilling smile to match his own.

Dave swallows around the intrusion, tries to speak, “Leggo ah mrah fhace, mbro.”

John tilts his head curiously, tugs a little further, a little harder, looks closer as Dave makes a small, pained noise, then lets go. He pulls his hands back and licks one of his fingers, tasting.

“Hmmmm…”

With a cheeky grin he ducks back down, kisses Dave on his sore mouth and he can’t do much to resist. He winces his eyes shut, makes another pained, displeased noise in the back of his throat, flinching away from the kiss. John just presses forward, pinches Dave’s cheeks on either side as if to prop his mouth open, and when his lips part, darts his tongue inside.

He strokes his hand down Dave’s throat, coaxes a murmured moan out of him, draws his tongue out of his mouth a little as he pulls away and then bites it hard. He shivers at Dave’s muffled cry and sucks on the muscle indulgently, laps up the blood he’s drawn.

“Your mouth isn’t as sweet,” He says eventually, giggling breathlessly. He leans back away and wriggles a bit in Dave’s lap as he starts to slide his own loose fitting pants off, “But you’re still pretty tasty!”

He licks his lips for show and goes right back to grinning, tossing his pants aside and following up with his shirt. The lollipop in his hair doesn’t even jostle, stays propped inexplicably in place.

The fuck?

Dave is trying not to just give in. He doesn’t want to resign himself to this, but the further things creep toward an eventual and blatantly sexual finish line, the more he thinks that there’s just no way out. John won’t listen to him, won’t stop laughing. He really and truly is going to fuck him, makes that all too obvious by the way he slides two fingers into his mouth, giggling around them, and draws them out shining and wet.

Dave’s seen enough porn to know where those fingers are going and he barely winces as they press into him, surprisingly okay with the physicality of it. If he just shuts his eyes it’s not even so bad. He can’t see John’s creepy smile, the blonde hair, and he can just pretend he’s having a really horrible wet dream/nightmare mash up.

But the giggling doesn’t stop and it’s distracting him from fading into ignorance and denial. He can’t hear a noise without looking to see what it is, where it’s coming from, and every hitch in John’s breath catches his attention.

The hitching in his own breath doesn’t help either.

John chuckles away as he works his fingers inside Dave, scissors them apart and laughs out loud when Dave curses and moans. Sick and fucked up as this is, a prostate is a prostate and when John jabs his fingers against it Dave’s spine goes all a-tingle.

He’s half hard when something warm and wet touches him, jerks him all the way into awareness. He watches John’s tongue drag over the head of his cock and tries not to be even a little bit turned on, fails.

He’s not about to deny an interest in getting a blow job, especially not from a guy as doofily attractive as John. But he’d never actually go looking for sex from his best bud, that would be weird, and this John, well, just John, isn’t in his right mind. Might not even quite be in his right body, honestly.

Dave keeps himself grounded as John laughs and moans around his dick, manages to keep his mind on just getting done, just getting out of here, and if he gets hard that’s okay and if not that’s okay too, there’s nothing wrong with him if sex gets him off even if it’s sex he doesn’t want. But fuck if John isn’t trying his damndest to make him want it.

“John,” he gasps out finally, afraid that this might turn into the tickle torture all over again, a two hour ordeal of teasing with fingers and tongue and he doesn’t think he can endure that, “John, please, if you’re gonna do this shit just get it over with.”

The laugh he gets in response reminds him of someone laughing at a cat who hasn’t figured out where the intriguing laser light on the floor is coming from and just keeps on chasing it, “Hehehe, okay Dave. You’re so impatient!”

He cringes at the sickly sweet way John is saying his name, grits his teeth as the fingers in his ass are removed, tenses at the feel of something else brushing the same spot.

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa, hold on, wait, you’re not gonna do this dry.”

“I’m not?”

“Fuck no you’re not.”

“Hehehehe.”

“John, no, you’re not fucking- oh shit FUCK, fuck, John-“

Holding onto his hips, John has thrust into him smoothly, only a little bit but it hurts and Dave wants to cry a little, almost lets himself, if only to vent his frustration.

Okay, ten out of ten Daves agree, even if John is sometimes kind of a dick, he is not this awful. This is not John.

Not his John.

He swallows back a whimper and the hands on his hips tighten a little, the constant giggle rising in pitch, breaking a little halfway through in a gasp as John rolls his hips forward, thrusts deeper inside Dave, breaks off the laughter entirely for a moan.

He stares down at Dave all blissed out and bleary eyed, smile tugging at the sides of his face now more than ever and he lets out a small, breathy laugh.

“You, hehe, you feel, mm, really good Dave, ahaha.”

Dave growls, throwing his head back in pain and anger, “Oh my god would you stop fucking laughing already!”

The laughter teeters down to its quietest point. It’s barely a breath, hardly a noise, and when John speaks it’s in a whisper, “I-I can’t.”

He giggles, just a quick one.

“Dave I can’t. I’m sorry. I…haha….I can’t.”

When Dave looks up again the smile has shrunk, the eyes look so concerned.

“Dave I’m, I’m so, haha…haa…sorry.”

He rolls his hips, swallows a moan, pulls out a little and starts a steady rhythm, not too fast, “I can’t, haha….I don’t wan-wanna…haa…ha. Hehehehe, I can’t, he-hel-hehehe-help…help Dave, he- hehehe.”

Dave stares up at him, mouth hanging slightly open in confusion, and gasps in pain with each thrust, whimpers quietly as the feeling begins to fade. He watches John’s pupils shrink, dilate again, watches him struggle with his smile as he jerks his hips rhythmically forward.

“He…hehehe…he-help…hee…help me-“

“He-help you?” Dave gasps out, gripping the sheets tighter as John fucks him, just barely sparking something but his brain won’t let his body connect properly and nothing feels quite right, “F-fuck you, man! How ab-about you he-help me?”

John winces a little, bursts out in an especially loud laugh, goes all pink in the face from something other than arousal, and moans, “I’m-I’m st-stuck, aaahaahaha…”

Dave rolls his eyes, ends up letting them roll back instead, “Shit, yes, I know, y-you’re possessed or s-something, can’t, c-can’t help it, okay, just, fuuuuck, fuck, don’t ngh-“ John’s nails are biting into his skin, digging in at his hips hard enough to draw blood, “J-just don’t hurt me, man.”

John’s eyes looks so, so honest for a second as he says, “I don’t wanna….I don’t want to h-hurt you, Dave!”

His voice pitches up, ends in a half laugh, and Dave growls again as he loses John, gets this other thing that digs its nails in deeper, fucks him harder, pulls one hand away and smears the blood on its fingertips over his cheek, his lips, giggling and murmuring that he’s soooo pretty.

It only lasts a few more minutes but John takes full advantage of the time. He rakes his nails down Dave’s sides, scratches him up wherever he can, leans in close to bite viciously down on his neck, his collar bone, damn near chewing at his shoulders. He runs his hands through Dave’s hair just to put it out of place, laughs too loud in his ear as he nips and licks and kisses his cheek, all the way down his neck and chest. He places a hand over Dave’s heart and whispers gleefully that maybe, someday, he’ll rip that silly little beat beat beating thing right out and see if it tastes as sour as he thinks it does.

Dave wishes, just a little, that he would.

He bites down on the inside of his mouth to distract himself as John comes inside him, gasps little giggly breaths and pulls out, sitting back to stare at him.

He laughs to himself, steady at first and then slower, slower, until his smile shrinks a little and he murmurs, “I’m so sorry Dave…”

It would be so sincere if he didn’t follow it up with a sharp, awkward laugh.

The candy cane sheets around his wrists and ankles slowly unwind, release their hold, and Dave brings his arms back to his sides shakily, unbends his legs and only flinches a little when John brushes a hand over his left knee, finger-walks up his thigh.

“If you want, Dave…” He says, nearly cooing, “I’ll tell you what I am now.”

The beaming, earnest smile he flashes makes Dave sigh. He thinks about sitting up, punching John in the face, beating the shit out of him and just ruining him. But he doesn’t. He’s tired. He feels like he’s going to barf.

“Oh yeah?” He asks, miserable and drawn. His eyes are closed and as much as there’s a rage burning slow inside of him, he kind of never wants to get up again, “And what’s that?”

He can’t help but tense as John crawls over him, leans in close to his ear and kisses it gently, barely a peck, whispers his answer, “Trickster Mode.”

Dave snorts, doesn’t open his eyes, “…what?”

John giggles. Typical. There’s a moment of rustling noise, the slight feel of John’s weight shifting on top of him and Dave is thinking that every instinct to kick, to cut, to kill isn’t going to work here. He’s got to fix his friend, not skewer him, and he doesn’t know how to go at a problem that doesn’t involve fucking things up.

“Here,” At John’s voice, Dave opens his eyes. His phone is in John’s hand, snatched from the pocket of his jeans. A keyboard is pulled up on screen, but not his usual one. It’s a full computer keyboard, the little raised and animated buttons begging to be poked through the touch screen. John holds the phone close to his own face, so his eyes beam like two blue lights on either side of it. He hovers a finger over one key, then another, raises his eyebrows at Dave in an invitation.

“What’s that?”

“Push the buttons, Dave!”

“…why?”

“I wanna show you!” His grin is three sizes too big for his face and Dave can feel the guy’s cum drying on his thighs.

“Show me…what you are.”

He nods eagerly, front teeth seeming to protrude more than ever. He giggles, stops abruptly as if hiccupping, closes his lips tight for a moment before letting the laughter out again, giddy and fast.

“And…what if I don’t wanna see?”

The Trickster John giggles, almost nervously, pulls a quick little hiccup again, “Then….heheh…then Dave, I….I guess I’ll have to convince you.”

Dave turns the thought over in his mind. He’s pretty sure convincing would involve another bout of rough sex.

He doesn’t think he wants to be tied up again.

He doesn’t think he really has any other great ideas.

He shrugs, “Fine.”

He presses each button, Ctrl +T.


End file.
